


In the Spirit of Cooperation

by Antiloquist



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Mistletoe, Resolved Romantic Tension, Unnamed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), light teasing, magic shenanigans, mistletoe kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28445316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antiloquist/pseuds/Antiloquist
Summary: The Warrior's nameday falls two days before Starlight, every year. Being in a whole other world gives her hope that maybe this year she won't be ignored, but the Scions endeavor to bring a little holiday cheer to the Crystarium, leaving the Warrior in a funk that she knows is petty and ridiculous. Emet-Selch comes by to irritate her, but winds up hearing her out instead. Things get interesting from there.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 13
Kudos: 47
Collections: Bookclub Winter Fic Exchange 2020, Final Fantasy XIV - Emet-Selch x WoL Recommendations





	In the Spirit of Cooperation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ryuseistreamgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryuseistreamgirl/gifts).



> This takes place between Rak'tika and Ahm Araeng. Assume the Exarch makes everyone actually take a break between Lightwardens.

The first thing the Warrior of Light felt upon being told that there was no Starlight Festival in the First was not shock or disappointment, but rather a petty sort of glee.

It wasn’t that she _hated_ Starlight, per se, but it was that she hated how it was celebrated. Perhaps this was a bit selfish but the fact that her nameday, only two days before the big festival, oft went ignored in favor of Starlight. It was but a drop in the bucket compared to all the woes in the world, of course, but having year upon year of ‘combined Starlight/nameday celebrations’ put a damper on her enjoyment of the season.

Still, it was hard to frown as she watched little Minfilia flit about the Wandering Stairs, putting up garlands and baubles. Thancred and Urianger had told her about the holiday. Eager to share in the culture of her found family’s world, she suggested they decorate. The Exarch had found the idea delightful and set about telling everyone what Starlight was about.

Yes, it was only with a slight bit of grumpiness that the Warrior assisted the young girl with preparations. Considering there was nowhere within habitable Norvrandt where snow fell naturally, they had to resort to some creative improvisations when it came to the snowmen.

At present, the Warrior was sat at a table at the Wandering Stairs. At the behest of the Exarch, she was taking at least a fortnight to rest before seeking out the Lightwarden of Ahm Araeng. Normally she would be delighted by this, but right now she was just restless.

If anyone asked her, she would vehemently deny it had anything to do with the encroaching Starlight festival. There was going to be one after all. The inhabitants of the Crystarium were confused at first, but quickly became excited at the concept of celebrating a holiday from their beloved Exarch’s world.

The attempts were rather delightfully amusing, she thought. It reminded her of a fantasy story she’d read many years before about a mummer from All Saints’ Wake who’d heard of Starlight and tried to do it himself. Perhaps it would have gone better for him had he not tried to force the Saint of Nymeia into an early retirement.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of someone sitting down across from her. She looked up to find none other than Emet-Selch, who was presently helping himself to some of her coffee biscuits.

“Can I help you?” she asked, easing an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, there’s no need to be so _suspicious_ , hero.” He wiped his still-gloved hands free of biscuit crumbs. “Can I not simply enjoy a friendly brunch with one of my allies?”

The Warrior rolled her eyes. “Not you, no. You’re up to something.”

Emet-Selch scoffed in mock hurt. “Me? Scheming? Why I never…” He reached for another biscuit, but the Warrior snatched the plate back before he could.

“Well, if you’re not up to something, then you want something. Come on, spit it out.” She stuffed the last few biscuits in her mouth at once in a petty attempt to deny Emet-Selch the satisfaction of having any more of them.

“Merely trying to understand you sundered mortals and your silly traditions. Do you truly believe one man can deliver presents to every child in your precious Eorzea over the course of one single night?”

The Warrior held up a finger to tell Emet-Selch to wait a moment as she hastily swallowed the biscuits, wincing as they went down scratchily. “It isn’t about the presents, it’s about the smiles of children. Usually we have someone playing the role of the Saint for celebrations, but it’s usually parents giving children presents and saying the Saint provided them.”

“Such subterfuge seems rather unnecessary.”

“That’s rich coming from an Ascian,” she retorted, taking a sip of tea to wash down the biscuits.

Emet-Selch smirked deviously. “Keep talking like that and I’ll start to think that you _like_ me, hero.”

A cough and sputter was the only response the Ascian received as the Warrior summarily began choking on her tea. She slapped herself on the chest a few times to regain control of her breathing and when she had calmed she noticed that Emet-Selch was _laughing_ at her.

“Imagine the great Warrior of Light, done in by a spot of tea!” He wiped at an imaginary laughter-induced tear.

The Warrior responded with a rude hand gesture. “You wish you could be so lucky.”

Emet-Selch shook his head. “Not truly. Where’s the _fun_ in that? I’d rather you go down in a blaze of glory, my dear.”

Oh no. Terms of endearment were a weakness of the Warrior’s, and she fought to keep her face from erupting into a blush like it had in Rak’tika when he’d hit her with a similar line.

“You clearly didn’t come here to flirt with me, either.” She hoped the scowl on her face was convincing enough. “Tell me what you want so I can get you out of my hair faster.” She avoided his gaze, lest any other emotion slip. Stupid charming bastard, making her heart race and bringing thoughts to her mind that had no right being there…

“So cruel…” He feigned a dramatic sigh. “If you must know, I can feel the snarl in your aether from all the way across the Crystarium. _Something’s_ got you in a right horrible mood, and I suppose I was curious.”

The Warrior couldn’t help but wonder if it was that obvious to all aetherically sensitive individuals. Urianger and Y’shtola _had_ been looking at her strangely, as of late…

She weighed her options. Did she open up to Emet-Selch of all people and risk him mocking her? Why was she even considering that option? Deny as she might, something about the smarmy weasel put her at ease, and there was something less risky about coming clean to someone who already looked at her with disdain.

“I don’t like the Starlight season,” she said, huffing a huge sigh.

This apparently wasn’t the answer the Ascian was expecting, as his response was to raise a finely-groomed eyebrow. “Of all the troubles your world and this world face, _that_ is what is weighing on your mind?”

He’d hit the nail on the head with that one, damn him. “Alright, this is going to sound really stupid…”

“No more so than whatever you lot spout on a daily basis, I’m sure.”

An oddly comforting comparison. “My nameday is two days before the Starlight festival. So everyone is always so wrapped up in that that no one remembers…” When Emet-Selch did not immediately answer, she huffed another sigh. “See, I told you it was stupid.”

Emet-Selch merely shrugged in response. “A pity you mortals cannot choose your dates of birth. The obvious solution to this would have been to make your nameday at the end of the third umbral moon.”

“How nice for you that you can do such a thing,” the Warrior responded dryly.

“No need for such hostility, hero. I am merely trying to hear you out. Isn’t that what allies do, support one another?”

The Warrior rolled her eyes. “I suppose anything I say will be used against me at some point.” After Emet-Selch’s dramatic rescue of Y’shtola, the Warrior at least _wanted_ to try and make nice with the Ascian. He just made it so _difficult_ with his little digs and quips.

“Not necessarily. I just wanted to help,” he said, not sounding convincing in the slightest. “Why look, I can see the knot in your aether loosening already.”

She _did_ feel a little bit better, now that she thought about it.

“See? I’m not all bad,” the Ascian said. “As for your troubles, I regret to inform you you’re just as mortal as anyone else around you. The only reason you have a problem with your nameday being so close to a holiday is because you _let_ it be a problem.”

“Thank you for your wise words, o great and powerful ancient one,” she replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Emet-Selch rose from the table, shaking his head in amusement. “You say you dislike me, and yet all that comes from you are these sweet nothings…” He ran a hand through his multicolored hair. “Meet me on the catwalk above the aetheryte in two bells’ time. There is something I would discuss with you. Preferably _without_ your entourage.”

It was the Warrior’s turn to quirk an eyebrow right back at Emet-Selch. “What, so you can push me over the railing and be done with it?”

“Please, as if your _precious_ Exarch would let you perish so easily on his turf. No, there is merely a finding I’ve come across that I’d rather have your opinion on first over that of your dear _friends_. Save the child, every single one of them irks me to the extreme.”

She narrowed her eyes. “No funny business.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he quipped, disappearing into a dark portal.

If only she could be so fortunate, she thought.

~

Almost exactly two bells later, the Warrior trudged up the stairs to the upper catwalk. She wondered why the hell the Exarch had built a city with so many damned stairs, but that was something she would probably gripe at him later for.

Was she walking right into a trap? Maybe. Emet had been right in saying that the Exarch would hardly tolerate attempted murder right in the middle of the latter’s territory. But what if the Ascian had brought a knife? Would the Exarch be able to counteract that quickly enough with that all-seeing mirror of his?

She couldn’t help but wonder if the Exarch was watching right now as she went to meet her greatest foe. Was he always watching? She hoped he at least had the decency to turn the damned thing off when she was in the bath, but if the mysterious man’s general demeanor towards her was anything to go by-

“You’re late, hero.” One moment, the space in front of her had been naught but empty air, and the next, it was being occupied by Emet. Damned Ascians and their teleportation.

“Forgive me for not running gleefully into what very well could be a trap,” she retorted.

Emet shook his head. “Oh, ye of little faith… you wound me so, dear hero.”

She rolled her eyes. “Enough with the theatrics. What did you need to show me?” she asked, half expecting it to be a sudden burst of dark magic or the cold steel of a dagger.

To her relative surprise, however, Emet uncrossed his arms and rose a little from his slouch. “This,” he said, snapping his fingers in his signature way.

(She always wondered how he could do that while wearing gloves.)

A finely wrapped package appeared in the Warrior’s hands, and she had to fumble a bit not to drop it.

It was heavier than it looked, and the weight balance suggested it was a tome of some sort. A weapon? The Ascian knew of her pursuit of the scholarly and summoning arts, but hardly seemed like the type to help her this directly.

“Well? Go ahead and open it. I haven’t got all evening, you know.”

“Sorry if I’m interrupting your beauty sleep,” she quipped back automatically. Was it trapped? Aetherically laced to poison whomever opened it? Was he hoping she’d get a nasty paper cut?

Fumbling with the intricate wrapping, she found an open point and tore it open to reveal that it was indeed a book. It was not, however, a spellcasting tome.

The title read _Myths and Faerie Tales of Old Garlemald._ Its fine binding and slightly yellowed pages suggested it was an older book, maybe even a first edition. She opened it and thumbed through the pages, sighing with relief when the smell of old books rather than poison met her nose.

She looked at it, then back to Emet, who was watching her expectantly. “What’s this all about?”

Emet sighed. “Are you mortals truly so dense? It’s your _nameday_ present, from my own personal library back in Garlemald.”

This had to be a trick. “But why?”

“Because it’s your nameday?” Emet replied slowly, as if he were talking to a small child.

Wait, it wasn’t- she did the math in her head, taking into account the difference in time passage between the Source and the First and-

Thal’s balls, he was right. In the wake of all this Starlight angst, she’d forgotten her own nameday, only vaguely recognizing it as ‘soon’.

“That it is…” she said slowly. She ran her fingers over the aged leather cover of the book. Myths and faerie tales were exactly the thing she enjoyed, and books from Garlemald were especially hard for Eorzeans to get their hands on. “How did you know?”

“If you must know, the fractured Oracle mentioned your interest in passing during one of the meetings in the Ocular you were too battered to attend. She compared your love of stories to that of your dear historian friend.” Emet-Selch stopped and thought for a moment. “Quite a peculiar one, isn’t he?”

Her eye twitched. “Urianger is a treasured ally and a most dependable friend.” She wasn’t about to let this infuriating man bash those most dear to her.

“I never said he wasn’t. In fact, he might be one of the most tolerable of all your little friends. The gun-touting one _certainly_ isn’t fond of me.”

“For good reason,” she replied.

Emet gave only a nod in return. “Ah yes, dear departed Lahabrea did tell me of his sojourn wearing your friend’s face.” He frowned. “I will never understand the others and their obsession with taking others as hosts. Isn’t it more _fun_ to keep a consistent identity? After all, a visage like mine doesn’t come along very often, hmm?”

“You’re very humble.”

“And you’re rather combative for someone who just received a rather nice nameday present.”

She looked down at the tome in her hands. It really _was_ quite a nice gift, but…

“What’s the catch?”

“Hmm?”

Clearing her throat, she repeated herself. “The catch. You already gave us Y’shtola back. You wouldn’t be the type to do _two_ nice things and not expect payment in return.”

Emet chuckled. “Aren’t you a clever one?"

“I knew it,” she said, scowl digging deep into her face as she moved to shove the damned book back into Emet’s arms.

He took a step back instead. “In exchange, I would like… your company.”

This thought stalled her. “What?”

“You heard me, hero. Walk with me for a bell or two. Regale me with your best conversation. I am so utterly _bored_ here in this Light-soaked wasteland.”

“You could always go back to the Source and cause more trouble there.” She kicked herself for this statement; if he was here in front of her, at least he wasn’t making misery elsewhere.

Emet scoffed. “What, go back and bother my _dear_ grandson? Waste another one of my clones when he shoots me out of annoyance?”

“Wait, that happens?” She couldn’t help but snicker at the mental image of stoic Varis just taking out a gun and just shooting his own grandfather.

“More often than I’d like. So immaturely quick to anger, you mortals These bodies don’t grow on trees, you know.”

The implication that Emet had dozens of clones in storage was quite frankly disturbing, but she pushed the thought aside by now.

“So, what do you say? Walk with me awhile?”

She sighed. “No tricks. If you try anything, you’ll need another one of your precious ‘clones’.”

“You have my word.” He bowed dramatically. “Have I ever lied to you, my dear?”

“Of course you-“ she began to retort before going back over her memories and realizing that _no, he hadn’t_. He was smarmy and irritating but every word he’d told her had been the truth, more or less. Her response died before it could leave her lips.

Emet smirked. “Precisely. I assure your complete safety in my company. Why, if anything were to threaten you, I would come valiantly to your defense.”

“My hero,” she deadpanned.

“Oh, you wish it could be that way, don’t you?”

Her jaw dropped in disbelief as he turned and began his way down the catwalk. So brazen…

(Perhaps he wasn’t wrong.)

“Are you coming, hero? Or do you simply wish to stand there and stare at my backside? It _is_ a rather nice one.”

She shoved the book into her aetherial storage pack and started after him. “I cannot believe you.”

“I assure you I am quite real.”

“Much to my chagrin.”

Emet laughed as the Warrior caught up to him. “Oh, the things you say. Why do you reject the olive branch so?” The two of them began a slow and steady sauntering around the upper catwalks, glancing down upon the patrons below. No one paid them any mind.

The Warrior stopped for a moment. “I… I suppose this isn’t a situation I’m used to. The last one of you folks that tried was Elidibus, but that sort’ve went out the window when he possessed your great-grandson and nearly killed me.”

(The concept that Emet appeared younger than his own grandson still shook the poor Warrior.)

“Ah, he did tell me of that. That happened not long after he _so_ _rudely_ woke me from my long-awaited slumber.”

“You mean when you… ‘died’.” She wasn’t quite sure how to phrase it, but the question didn’t seem to faze Emet at all.

In fact, he just smirked. “Walking around in a naturally aging mortal body nonstop for so _long_ is just exhausting, you see. It was Solus’s time. The secession crisis was just a bonus.”

“So you planned that.” It wasn’t a question, but rather a statement.

“Some of my best work yet. The Allagans would be proud…”

The Warrior scowled. “Megalomaniacal bastard…”

Emet laughed. “I told you back in Rak’tika, flattery will get you nowhere with me, my dear.”

She willed away a blush. “You sure do love it when I insult you.”

“It means I’m doing my job. After all, you said it yourself: I am but a bringer of chaos.”

“So why pretend to be our friend?”

Emet mock gasped. “You think I’m pretending? Your words hurt, hero. I’ll have you know I’m rather fascinated with you strange mortals.”

“Nice to know we’re your science experiment.”

“Now now, no need to frown. Perhaps I’m merely trying to come to an understanding. Surely you’re curious about myself and other greater beings?”

The Warrior wasn’t sure if she was being led into a verbal trap. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”

“Perhaps I shall tell you more some day. But for now, I must admit I’m curious about you and yours. Tell me about this ‘Starlight’ you so revile.”

She sighed. “It’s not that I hate it. I just… growing up and seeing all my peers celebrating _their_ namedays while mine gets forgotten? Ugh.” She thought for a moment. “Are you saying you don’t have something similar in Garlemald?”

“Please, such pedestrian traditions are beneath us. But I suppose I can see your annoyance. After all, namedays were celebrated even as far back as my time.”

Did he mean during Solus’s reign, or-

“You mean back before… everything.”

“Before your _beloved_ Mothercrystal destroyed everything I knew and loved, yes,” he snarled, clenching a fist before pausing and taking a deep breath to calm himself. “But I digress. Tell me about this obsession with evergreen foliage.”

She nodded. “You put up a Starlight tree, and you put ornaments on it. I… I don’t know why. But the trees are where the presents go.”

“Seems rather ostentatious.”

“You realize that you’re the one saying that, right?”

Emet chuckled. “I suppose I have always loved the arts. Alright then, the snow creatures.”

“Snowmen. I think they’re to give a sense of community. You dress them up in outfits and then they celebrate with us. Although here…”

“Ah, yes, I believe your precious pixie friends have set up creatures made of leaves all about… do the people of the Crystarium know that those were once actual breathing mortals? Perhaps someone should tell them…”

The Warrior frowned. “I would prefer you not.”

Emet shrugged. “A job for someone else, then. As for my next question… what of those strange plants people hang from doorways? The ones with the berries.”

“Oh, you mean… you mean mistletoe.” She couldn’t help but blush. Was she really going to have to explain this to Emet?

“I am familiar with the plant as a species. Some different varieties make rather potent poisons. So why hang poison from doorways? Is it a warding ritual of some sort?”

Oh gods. She wanted the earth to swallow her whole. She did _not_ want to discuss kissing and romance with the Ascian that gave her strange feelings every time she looked at him.

“Well, it varies depending on region… some places are weird, but… generally two individuals caught under mistletoe would have to, uh…”

“Hmm? Do tell. What would they have to do?”

She coughed awkwardly. “They would have to… kiss.”

Emet’s gold eyes widened in feigned surprise. “My, my… what an interesting ritual indeed.” He looked down towards her with a look bordering on interest. Her stomach flipped in a way that didn’t suggest fear.

She suddenly wished she’d told him about the shoe-swapping ritual instead.

He snapped his fingers, and the Warrior had a sinking feeling regarding what the Ascian had just done.

The Warrior looked up to confirm that Emet had indeed summoned a floating, _glowing_ piece of mistletoe.

It was then that she realized how _close_ Emet was. From here she could smell a mix of the leather of his outer coat as well the enticing scent of whatever cologne he preferred. Her heart kicked into full gear. This was so wrong, oh so very wrong.

But if it was wrong, did she really want to be right? All was fair in the spirit of cooperation, yes?

The only direction she found she could move was _towards_ Emet. Had the Ascian enchanted the mistletoe to hold her in place or was it merely her nerves locking her joints?

“A-are you mocking me?” she breathed.

Emet took a step towards her, gently reaching around and resting his large gloved hand on the small of her back. The point of contact felt like an electric poker sending current all through her body.

“Not in the slightest,” he replied, not a trace of disdain or sarcasm in his voice. The Warrior couldn’t help but shiver with delight. “Do you think I'm unaware of the way you look at me?” His other hand cupped her face under her chin, tilting her gaze to meet his. She could feel the warmth of his hand under the material of his glove. His gaze was molten gold, melting the little resistance she had had.

“I-I don’t know what you mean.” It was a token fight this time; he had her under his spell.

Emet smirked, and this time it made her already weak knees wobble. His hand on the small of her back kept her steady.

“No? I can sense it, you know. The crackling of your aether whenever we’re in proximity is rather conspicuous. And when we’re this close, I can feel your heart race.”

“Why are you doing this?”

He shrugged. “Whyever not, my dear? What is a little dalliance in the face of the apocalypse, hero? We’re both consenting adults, are we not?”

“I-I…”

Emet loosened his grip and the Warrior felt whatever held her in place dissipate. “I am many terrible things, but a lecher is not one of them. Refuse me, and we will never speak of this again. No hard feelings, honest.” There was nothing but sincerity in his voice at present, and for the first time that night, she felt sure that he wasn’t making fun of her.

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to know. This will not change anything except our demeanor behind closed doors. Out in the world at large, _you_ are the vaunted hero and _I_ am the vile villain. As it should be.”

She leaned in. “As it should be…” she murmured as their lips touched. Kissing an Ascian did not feel like she had expected it to. Beyond a few odd dreams here and there, she never actually gave it much thought at all. But it wasn’t the cold of the grave she was anticipating; rather, Emet-Selch was warm and full of life. She could feel his heart racing much like her own. Perhaps he truly meant this.

One of her hands came up to lace through his hair, and she was surprised to find it was softer than it looked. He grunted in response and pulled her closer. She opened her mouth to deepen the kiss-

And leapt back when a call of her name echoed through the Crystarium. She quickly straightened her hair and clothes and looked around for the source of the voice. Upon seeing it was below her and that the source, Alphinaud, had not seen her, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Emet looked as if he hadn’t just thoroughly been kissed, and his composure irked the Warrior just a little. Would it kill him to be just a _little_ flustered? “That would be your peanut gallery,” he remarked. “Did you know that they’ve been planning a nameday celebration for you all week? You had nothing to worry about.”

“I hate you so much,” she said, only half meaning it.

“That is not what you were telling me just a moment ago,” Emet replied with a wink. Her stomach flipped over itself again. If just one kiss could do _that…_

“I… we’ll talk about this later, Ascian.” Someone downstairs had spotted her and now everyone was making a beeline upstairs.  
  
Emet chuckled darkly, his voice like warm honey in the Warrior’s ears. “We shall indeed. Enjoy your mortal nameday, hero. I will be watching.”  
  
As the Ascian ported away into the darkness with his signature wave, the Warrior couldn’t help but wonder if she’d just gotten in way over her head.

**Author's Note:**

> Guess the piece of media that WoL was referring to at the beginning and you're cool.
> 
> Wondering if I should continue this or not...
> 
> "They're Only Human" from the Death Note Musical (yes really) was a good listen for me to get into Emet's head. Check it out, it slaps.
> 
> Join us at the book club for more fic and fun!
> 
> https://discord.gg/hPbnJzu


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